


it's a numbers game

by flustraaa



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Anxious Alec Lightwood, Highschool AU, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Alec Lightwood, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Scared Alec Lightwood, Tired Alec Lightwood, Worried Magnus Bane, tw eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 12:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flustraaa/pseuds/flustraaa
Summary: they don't seem to notice the numbers like alec does, and he doesn't really understand why he himself does.





	it's a numbers game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmenlire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmenlire/gifts).



> okay y'all i wrote this work for a class in the first semester of this past school year and i just read a work by @carmenlire that made me feel like it was okay to finally bring this work to the surface because i've been meaning to for a loooonnnggg time. anyways, this piece is really really important to me, so if you have anything to say about it pls be gentle bc pieces like this make me very very vulnerable and i hate being vulnerable with every fiber of my being. (sidenote: the names in the og piece were for a contest and obviously i changed it to be a shadowhunters kinda deal so if you see something don't be scared to tell me).

They don’t see the numbers attached.

How could they not see the numbers? 

It’s clear as day. 

The bottom piece of bread is a sixty-

The viscous, not so pink, but almost red, strawberry jelly

Clumping in the middle

it’s eighty.

The peanut butter is at least one hundred and ninety- 

and that’s assuming Jace has only scooped the recommended two tablespoons--

onto his second piece of sixty bread.

The whole sandwich is at least two hundred and ninety.

Each bite is at least twenty-nine calories.

Twenty-nine.

“Alec?”

He’s been ogling Jace’s sandwich now,

and Alec recognizes the look on his best friend's face.

And Alec doesn't like it.

He knows what Jace will say, 

before it even leaves his mouth. 

His fingers tear the sandwich in half and he holds out half of it to Alec.

His mouth is watering and he can feel the guilt welling in his stomach.

His best friend shouldn’t have to look at him like that.

“I’m _good_ ,”

He murmurs it, voice vulnerable and low.

He doesn’t like that either.

“No, you’re not.”

But Alec can’t take the sandwich.

What will they think? 

When they  _ see- _

When they see his chubby fingers 

clasping the sandwich like it's his last lifeline? 

“You’re starting to look like a stick.”

 

No

No

no ,  No ,  NO

No,  NO .

_ No. _

_ Please, no. _

How could he not see?

How could Jace not see the layers that he’s buried in?

The ones that he is drowning in.

“Alec, look at me.”

But Alec can’t look at him- 

he  _ knows _ he’ll see the way Jace's is glowering.

Scrutinizing him like he can read his thoughts-

And for the first time, he feels small-

But not the type of small he’s craved for so long.

He’s zoned out again-

And Jace's face is riddled in a look he can’t describe.

_Animosity_ and _Dysphoria_ clear, 

The one that he

Personally inscribed.

And it seems in trying his best, he’s hurting him too.

“I saw the soccer practice schedule.”

His eyes are wide honey pools of concern,

“You need to eat.”

He nudges the caloric breeding ground foreword and Alec wants to scream,

But the words are trapped in his throat.

He’s making a scene and now everyone sees it.

Magnus _and_ Clary _and_ Isabelle _and_  Simon are looking-

the list goes on and on 

Albeit, they look more nervous than anything,

And slowly he reaches out,

Taking the grainy, dense, piece,

He doesn’t remember when the last time he’d had one of these,

Probably not since he had drawn back to one hundred and fifty.

One hundred and fifty.

_One hundred and fifty calories_.

That’s how he’s been living.

Well actually, 

He supposes,

He’s just surviving. 

His heart trips in his chest. 

Half of this forsaken sandwich is one hundred and forty-five.

But he still needs to pick around his plate,

Avoid his mother’s gaze at the dinner table.

Not eat the food she’d worked so hard to earn. 

But he’s _not_ a stick.

He must be _small_ to be _loved_ ;

_**Right?** _

“Alec.”

 

There’s that stupid human emotion begging him to listen to his best friend.

“One bite.”

And so he does,

But he doesn’t dare say the way he wretches into the night,

The only thing his stomach is full of,

Is  _ grief _ .


End file.
